Marianne did not need telling twice. She hurried behind the screen, a big studded leather affair, green with age, and wriggled out of her prison clothes with joyful speed. She had not worn them long, but it had been long enough to give her a lively distaste for them and it was with a great feeling of relief and wellbeing that she slipped back into her soft petticoat, mulberry-coloured dress, warm coat and pretty hat. The shabby room contained nothing in the way of a mirror but Marianne did not care. What mattered was to be herself again as quickly as possible.
When she emerged, fully dressed, she found herself face to face with a large, authoritative-looking woman in a nun's habit whose face, despite the ravages of fat, still showed the remnants of great beauty. The Superior smiled kindly at her former prisoner.
'I am glad you are to stay no longer with us. I fear the time you have spent here can have left you with no pleasant memories.'
'The time was so short, Mother, that the memory will quickly fade.'
A few more courtesies and Marianne found herself out in the passage again with Fouché, following a nun who led them to a small staircase leading straight down to the entrance where the Minister's carriage waited. The Mother Superior deemed it best that the other prisoners should know nothing of Marianne's departure. They would merely suppose that she had been put in solitary confinement.
'Where are you taking me?' Marianne asked her companion.
'I have not yet decided. You landed on me somewhat out of the blue. I need time to think.'
'Then, if it is all the same to you, please take me where I can get something to eat. I have had nothing since last night and I am dying of hunger!'
Fouché smiled at this youthful appetite.
'I believe it may be possible to feed you. In you get,' he added, putting on his hat as he spoke. A hand, elegantly gloved in pale kid, reached out from the interior of the vehicle to help her up and a deep voice exclaimed: 'Ah! I am glad to see you at liberty again.'
A powerful arm almost lifted Marianne into the carriage and she found herself sitting on velvet cushions facing a smiling man whom she instantly recognized as Baron Surcouf.
The worthy Bobois's sensations of relief at seeing her return escorted by the Minister of Police in person and by his own best customer found their expression in the rapidity with which he set about producing the meal which Surcouf ordered. The morning was by now far advanced and as it was growing somewhat late for breakfast even at the Compas d'Or, Marianne had just time for some small attention to her appearance before sitting down.
Fouché excused himself, saying he had business at the Ministry but that he would expect Marianne at four o'clock in his house in the quai Voltaire when he would inform her of his decision regarding her future. Meanwhile, Marianne and her new friend sat down to a table spread with a clean white cloth and a variety of dishes calculated to satisfy even the most demanding appetite.
Understanding between Surcouf and Marianne had been instant and complete. There was a vigour about the Corsair's square, leonine face which inspired trust while the steady gaze of his blue eyes compelled honesty. His vivid personality exuded energy, enthusiasm and authority. The landlord and his staff hovered around him, anticipating his slightest whim, as eagerly as if they had been the crew of a ship under his command. As she did ample justice to her breakfast, Marianne reflected that, more than anything else, it showed the change which had taken place in her life. This smiling man was a corsair, the very king of corsairs from what people said, and England had no more formidable and determined enemy. And yet, here she was, she, the one-time mistress of Selton Hall, sitting down and breaking bread with him as though they had known each other all their lives. What would Aunt Ellis have said?
She could not have said herself exactly what she was doing there and why this stranger should have interested himself in her affairs to the extent of pursuing a Minister in his own home. Had he some ulterior motive? The truth was that when Surcouf looked at Marianne his face had the dazzled expression of a child who has been given a particularly lovely toy, eyes full of stars yet hardly daring to touch. He blushed beneath his tan when Marianne smiled at him and if, by chance, her hand touched his on the table, he would draw back awkwardly. Marianne was too much a woman already not to find the game amusing, though it in no way interfered with her enjoyment of master Bobois's excellent cooking.
But sharp as Marianne's appetite was, it could not compare with Surcouf's. Dish after dish vanished with a remorseless regularity that was little short of prodigious. Filled with admiration for such capacity, Marianne waited for a break before putting the question that burned on her lips.
'May I – may I ask what has become of Jean Le Dru?'
'Gone!' Surcouf said laconically.
'What? You have dismissed him? But – what for?'
'Anyone capable of handing over a woman, worse a young girl, into the clutches of the police cannot continue to serve under me. War is a matter for men, Mademoiselle Marianne. It is fought by men, with men's weapons. Laying information is not one of them. There are some things for which even love is no excuse.'
The word sent the colour flooding into Marianne's cheeks.
'Love? Do you believe then—'
'That he loves you? Stands out a mile. He would not seem to hate you so much if he were not mad for you. But, as I say, that does not excuse him in my eyes. Have some of this lettuce, it's delicious.'
Marianne reflected inwardly as she helped herself to salad that this dismissal was unlikely to make Jean Le Dru any more her friend. He must certainly resent it bitterly and his love, if love there was, was almost bound to be transformed into an implacable hatred. She knew, better than anyone, that he could be a dangerous enemy. The prospect of ever coming face to face with him again was uninviting.
The Corsair had stopped eating and was watching her.
'What are you thinking?' he asked.
'About that boy still. What will become of him? You are his god—'
'There are other ships and other men even in St Malo! He can go to my brother Nicolas. Besides, if you think Le Dru worships me, you're mistaken. He has a god, certainly, but it is not myself. It is the Emperor. There is no lack of regiments to serve him in, under his very eyes even.'
The subject was closed, not to be reopened. Marianne turned the conversation instead to draw out her host to talk about himself. He both attracted and intrigued her. However, it was not easy. Surcouf was a modest man but Marianne had realized that mention of the sea was enough to make him open out. The sea was Surcouf's very life, the air he breathed and the blood in his veins. The reason that he had not set out again immediately on his return from Madagascar was that, instead of commanding only his own vessel, he was now fitting out a regular fleet for the service of France and her master on all the seas of the world. At the age of thirty-six, Surcouf was a rich man, powerful in his own land, a baron of the empire and the father of a growing family.
It seemed odd to Marianne to hear him abusing those 'damned English'. He certainly had no love for them but then, he too had tried the dreadful hulks and, from a child, the mere sight of the Union Jack floating at a masthead had been enough to send him into a fury. But it did not make him blind.
'Nelson was a fine fellow,' he declared, 'a first rate sailor. But had I commanded the French Fleet instead of that half-wit Villeneuve, we shouldn't have been beaten at Trafalgar and perhaps that one-eyed genius might still be living. However, for his death alone I cannot regard the battle as a total loss. That Englishman was worth a fleet in himself.'